A Bloody Morning
by FenrirMoridin
Summary: Well, this should be the first fanfiction for the Shadowlands campaign run by MechaGM. It's not as good as I hope, especially when it comes to verb tense consistency, but I haven't written recreationally for years nor fiction, for that matter . Oh, and I decided to make it about the powries who managed to be just as threatening as a weakened dracolich. Enjoy


**A Roll of the Die**

Kieran shifted his iron boots, pushing another log into the small campfire. No smoke rose from the burning log, a fact which pleased the bitter powrie; if he had to spend the better part of an hour finding dry wood, it better burn properly. Still, it had been a good day so far: as the sun began to set they had encountered a small caravan which had offered no resistance to their rusted blades. True, it lacked the satisfaction of a hard-fought battle, but his more veteran comrades had reined him in, pointing out that their hats shone equally bright with or without a battle beforehand. Still, a part of him felt vaguely unsatisfied and wished for a true battle to test his merit.

"I see the new lad moping by the fire, his expression too glum for any powrie with a freshly dipped cap."

Kieran looked up, right into the beady black eyes of the eldest member of the group. Eamon was an experienced Thorn, gifted in both battle and the simple offensive spells that always eluded Kieran. Eamon was an exemplar of success, having slain hundreds of beings to dye his cap. Eamon's necklace was evidence of this, the finger bones gently clicking together every time Eamon shifted his body. Each bone told a story, although Kieran was too awestruck to ask about the centerpiece of the necklace, which surely had to come from a giant of some kind.

"It's nothing, Eamon. 'Just regretting our luck at not having to fight,' like you guys said."

The other two powries around the fire chucked at that. Dermot and Aidan were an odd pairing, alike in all things except how they fought. Dermot always claimed he was too dumb for the spells that aided a Thorn in battle; Aidan was quick to point out that without his minor enchantments he would be just as likely to dip his hat in his own blood instead of his opponent's. Neither was as experienced as Eamon, but together they had racked up their own impressive kills, including a golden dragonborn who had, posthumously of course, donated one brilliant scale to each of their own necklaces.

Aidan turned to his compatriot, "Boy's quick to start building his own necklace-

"-but without a head there's little point!" Dermot finished, a quick smile spreading over his face before he and Aidan began chuckling softly.

Keiran moaned at the ages old powrie saying, his inner tally reaching three for that particular proverb. He knew the older powries meant no harm, but he couldn't help the small feeling of inadequacy that came with his inexperience. He was about to give voice to his concern when his compatriots' faces became grave and serious.

"There is a small party camping in the woods to the east of us," a sibilant voice spoke from the shadows.

Kieran turned to see the Witherer walk into the firelight, dropping the body of a small squirrel at the edge of their camping site. Kieran quickly stiffened to hide the involuntary shiver that had began to spread up his spine when he heard the Witherer speak. Few powrie were gifted with enough arcane talent to join the group of spellcasters, and fewer were willing to endure a position that took them from the front line where the most blood was spilt. No one in the party knew the Witherer's name or even recognized his voice; if they hadn't seen the decrepit-looking figure emerge from the shadows with his lips moving in sync with that terrible voice, the powries would have suspected an enemy assault.

Eamon was the first to recover, his surprise lasting only until he saw the Witherer's face.

"If there's a party camping out in the woods, then there's more blood to be had tonight," Eamon stated before turning to Aidan. "You're the quietest among us; go to the east and find where our victims rest."

Aidan blinked a couple of times before breaking out of his shock-induced reverie. With a small nod of his head to Eamon, he headed out in the direction that the Witherer had just left from, making sure to give the spellcaster a wide berth. The Witherer ignored the Thorn walking past, instead turning his gaze unto Eamon.

"You doubt me?" Although the Witherer's voice barely rose above a whisper in volume, each word carried with it the promise of unspeakable horrors if Eamon was so foolish as to insult a Witherer. Eamon wasn't fazed by the obvious threat: he knew that the Witherer held pride in its magical abilities, but also that the Witherer would hesitate to launch an attack from such a close range.

"Of course not, but we need to know more details before we attack. I'd rather not have our rookie die on our first outing," Eamon carefully stated. The Witherer turned its chilling glare onto Kieran at Eamon's words; it slowly nodded its head, a look of contempt passing across its face as it stared at Kieran. It turned away from the fire, moving towards the small satchel it had left on the periphery of the camp site, clearly assuaged by Eamon's diplomatic statement. As it rustled through its belongings, Eamon sidled up to Kieran. "Sorry, lad, but all Witherers have a pride more prickly than the thorniest bush!" Eamon whispered, keeping his voice down so that only Kieran could hear.

Kieran nodded, deciding that he would salvage his pride by not squeaking out a response while his voice was still tense with fear.

* * *

It was almost an hour before Aidan returned, his approach noticeably louder than his exit. There was a puzzled look on his face, and Kieran could swear he had seen Aidan's mouth move as he mumbled to himself before fully entering the campfire's dimming glow. Eamon gave the powrie a few moments to rest, and then looked expectantly for news about the travelers the Witherer had detected. Aidan gave his head a quick shake before giving his breakdown to the party's leader:

"It's a party of just five, including three women and one ado-" Aidan's voice trailed off for a second, a look of consternation swiftly crossing his features as he fought, and won, some inner battle, "-lescent, although the boy seemed to be a mage of some sort. Two are elves, but neither have the features of the eladrin." Aidan practically spat out the last word, and the other powries all gave a small rumble at hearing the name of the hated fey elves. Aidan cleared his throat before continuing, "the ado-lescent and one of the females are human and share the same red hair, and the other guy is a drow." Aidan began to finger his necklace, remembering earlier in the evening when he had mentioned his regret at missing a finger bone from the darkest variety of elf to complete his collection. "I couldn't learn anymore without possibly giving myself away, especially since their first watch was turning in. I left before the elf got to her position; she looked far too comfortable in the woods for me to believe they would provide adequate cover."

Eamon nodded, not astonished by the relative paucity of information. He gave a small sigh before remembering an important detail Aidan left out: "Aidan, how far away is their camp?"

Aidan looked down at his boots, shuffling them it what was clearly embarrassment. "They're only 15 minutes or so away, and that's even moving stealthily." Eamon shifted one of his eyebrows at Aidan, obviously wondering what had taken Aidan so long. Aidan let out an obvious sigh, resigning himself to his fate: "I know, but I overheard some of the conversation between the two that were on watch, the blonde elf and the young human boy. It was…kind of…adorable." Kieran and the other powries looked in astonishment at Aidan, who took off his hat and twisted it around before exclaiming, "I know! I know. I have no idea why I thought it either. For some reason, when I heard their conversation, the word 'adorable' became stuck in my head, and I couldn't stop thinking it the whole way back!" Aidan's voice was almost high-pitched at the end, and he was only able to relax after several minutes of his companions exclaiming that it was probably some form of elven glamour and that he shouldn't feel ashamed. The Witherer looked on in disgust, wondering why the others wasted their time on such a triviality, especially when it was clearly not a threat to their impending raid.

"So, then, I think we all have a good idea of what awaits us at the party's camp. It seems like these travelers are adventurers, so I want everyone to be prepared for pitched bat-" Before Eamon could finish, Aidan cut him off with an embarrassed look on his face. "Eamon, I forgot one important detail. I'm pretty sure I made out the figures of riding wolves a little distance from their camp." Aidan looked at the ground when he was done, his head heavy with the shame he could have inadvertently killed of the rest of the group. Eamon cursed vehemently, before asking quietly "A wolf for each person?" Aidan nodded his head sadly. Eamon looked into the distance, running the numbers in his head. "Lads, I hate to say this, but even if the travelers are weak we probably couldn't defeat-"

"I can take care of the wolves." The other four powries turned their head to look at the Witherer, who wasn't as detached from their council as they had believed. Once he noted he had all their attention, the Witherer let an evil smirk spread slowly across his face. "Give me an hour and it will be done." His purpose stated, the Witherer turned to his bag and began to draw out arcane components, once again ignoring the powrie warriors. Eamon let out a sigh of relief; it was hard for most powries to ignore a chance for blood, even if the odds were overwhelming. He looked at the youngest member of the group, inwardly flinching at the level of enthusiasm he already saw burning in Kieran's eyes. Nothing would be able to calm the young powrie, not until he had slit a throat or two and coated his hat with fresh blood. Eamon just hoped that would be the case, since the only other alternative he could see was the lad's early death.

* * *

True to the Witherer's words, he returned to the campsite an hour after he left. Kieran hadn't seen what the magic user had done, although he had heard a mysterious chattering sound fade into the distance shortly before the Witherer returned. Kieran couldn't bring himself to care what the Witherer had done anyways; every cell in his body was bursting with excitement at the prospect of his first real battle. Soon he would spill the blood of a worthy foe and relish their horror as their life coated his hat.

"Okay lads, it's time we all shoved off and spilled us some adventurers' guts!" Eamon exclaimed, breaking the silent air of excitement that had covered the camp. The other powries all let loose a low cheer at Eamon's words, except for the taciturn Witherer who looked on with apathy. In no particular order they all marched into the woods, letting their short but powerful strides quickly eat the distance between their campsite and their prey. After about ten minutes Eamon held up his hand and they all began to move more silently, even the Witherer. Eamon gestured to the south, cupping his hand around and pointing at both Aidan and Dermot then opening his hand three times. The meaning was clear to the experienced duo: the two of them were to circle the adventurers' campsite and prepared to attack it from the east 15 minutes from then. Eamon turned to Kieran as the other two left, pointing first at Kieran then to himself. Kieran would have moaned at Eamon's confirmation of the obvious if silence wasn't so imperative; it was clear that both he and Eamon would serve as the other pincer to Aidan and Dermot's attack even to a rookie before his first real battle. Eamon caught his eye, though, and only looked satisfied when Kieran gave an exasperated nod. The easy part done, Eamon turned to the always-unpredictable spellcaster, only to find the Witherer long gone. Eamon looked around for a second until Kieran pointed to the north, indicating the direction he had seen the Witherer slink off to when Eamon was busy directing the rest of the group. Eamon nodded, secretly glad that the powrie magic user took his own initiative and would use his own abilities as he saw fit. With everything in place, Eamon settled on his haunches to wait out the remaining minutes while Kieran fidgeted with the restlessness of youthful bloodlust.

* * *

The powrie Witherer moved surely to the north of the camp, confident in his abilities to mask his sounds by manipulating the earth. He had decided to attack from the north, mostly because the current wind came from that direction and he'd rather not smell the fouler excretions that were as much an accompaniment to battle as the blood the powrie constantly craved. He hadn't expected this raid to be so fruitful, especially after the earlier encounter with the caravan. The Witherer remembered it fondly, one of the few opportunities where he got to dip his hat in fresh blood untainted by those bumbling warrior powries. The Witherer thought to itself, 'Truly, is not my role the harshest of all powries? To serve better than the others, bending the very terrain of battle to my will, only to get those foolish warriors leftovers? I deserved that child's blood; even if the others wanted it, they lost their chance when they decided to wager it on a roll of the bones.' The Witherer chuckled silently to himself, remembering the slight effort it had taken for him to make sure the bones gave him the best roll of the group. The Witherer licked his lips at the thought of getting more blood for his hat. 'Surely the others realize they owe this combat to me. Those fools wouldn't even have known about these travelers bumbling about in the woods without my magic to detect them.' The Witherer finally reached a decent spot to view the camp and settled down to wait for the warriors to charge into the fray, a wicked smile dancing over his face. 'Today's a good day to spill some blood,' he thought, right before the universe took its cue and the day shifted into hectic chaos.

* * *

Eamon wasn't sure which of the powries made the crucial mistake, but he did notice the moment when the human female and drow stiffened, their faces both more alert than the second before. Eamon looked at Kieran to make sure he was still in position, only to snap his head back towards the camp when he heard a voice roar out to the sound of snapping tree branches. Eamon had expected the two on watch to rouse their fellows, giving him a scant few seconds to best prepare his and the rookie's assault. What he had not expected was the human female to suddenly charge the tree line, shouting out rather bizarrely, "Fuck them! They should have announced their presence!" while her more rational drow companion woke the other adventurers. Eamon wasn't one for premonitions, but as he looked into the female's crazed advance he wondered if he should have just ignored the Witherer's information.

* * *

The Witherer wasn't sure if it felt more irritation or amusement at the events unfolding at the campsite. On one hand, at least one of the powrie warriors must have blundered around as it snuck, losing the precious element of surprise. On the other hand, one of the humans was clearly crazed, leaving all her companions to jump at the trees shouting some nonsense at the top of her lungs. As the Witherer watched, it noticed that the human female was the only one to move away from the campfire, leaving her sleeping companions and the standing drow in a fairly small area. It took only a split second for a wicked spell to jump forward in the Witherer's mind, and it quickly entered the motions to cast one of its favored spells on the unwitting party.

* * *

Aidan and Dermot missed the subtle cue that tipped Eamon off to the sentries' increased alertness. Fortunately for them, the cues that took place afterward were much more obvious to interpret, although they both took a precious second to pinch the other to make sure they weren't dreaming about the crazy female human. Reality confirmed, they both began creeping forward towards the campsite. Aidan let out a little sigh when he noticed the drow male was still too far for Aidan to engage him properly. Before he could truly regret this detail, Aidan's eyes fell across the sleeping figure of the human adolescent that had caused him such unusual distress earlier. "Dermot, take care of the elf with the bow. I think I can take care of that human brat for a little while," Aidan whispered as he brought the cantrip he needed to the forefront of his mind. "Oh yes, you'll do quite nicely…"

* * *

Kieran felt lost in those first few seconds of battle. The crazy human woman was confusing enough, but the air was soon permeated with a cacophony of lupine rage and chitinous fury as the travelers' wolves jumped into battle with the creatures the Witherer had summoned. Kieran would have lost it there if not for the avatar of calm that Aemon became once battle was joined. Kieran wasn't even sure if his grip on his scythe was adequate, yet the veteran had already enchanted his blade and waged into battle with the female human. The human was fast but clearly less experienced than the veteran powrie, whose enchanted blade blasted through her guard, cutting the human deeply and knocking her to the ground with a dazed look on her face. "Now lad!" roared the powrie leader, moving aside so that Kieran had a good shot at the stricken human. At the sound of Eamon's voice Kieran felt an oasis of calm open within himself, allowing him to wade forward to attack the human even as a blast of magical wind erupted from the middle of the camping ground.

* * *

The Witherer noticed that one of the Thorns had drawn closer to the camp than was truly advisable, but that didn't stop his spellcasting: why should he stop when the fool was clearly even more absorbed in his inferior spellcraft? The Witherer barely noticed the sleeping human male cry out as thorns began to sprout and spread over his body when the Thorn finished its spell. The Witherer did pay attention as it released the final word of its own spell, his tone triumphant as a column of air exploded out from the middle of the camp. The effect was greater than even the Witherer had expected, pushing all four of the adventurers still in the campsite out of their little circle and knocking them to the ground, where the brutish warriors should be able to do what damage they could. The Witherer smiled in satisfaction before considering what spell it should unleash next.

* * *

Dermot didn't question the blast of air that pushed the elf towards him, although he did get a little satisfaction out of seeing an elf knocked on its ass. He took no time in swinging his scythe at the elf and giving her a nice gash across her torso. It wasn't enough blood for his purposes, though, so he moved forward and gave her a nice kick in the ribs to give himself room for his next blow. As he followed the elf's backwards trajectory he noticed the rookie give an excellent blow to the fire-haired human woman: "Beginner's luck."

* * *

Eamon felt a small burst of pride in the young powrie. Kieran's inexperience didn't show, his scythe adeptly slicing down to widen the human female's wound before Kieran booted her out of his way. Eamon's pride was soon swallowed by fear when he realized that Kieran had just successfully attacked one of the more formidable enemies right before they gathered themselves for a counterattack. The elf had already entered a weird stance after using a piece of leather to staunch the bleeding while the drow had sped around one of the tents towards Aidan and Dermot's direction. Eamon moved forward to draw their attention towards him, drawing the focus of the human female who had blinked once and regained her faculties. Eamon beckoned her towards him then completely lost sight of her. It was only decades of experience that kept Eamon alive as he instinctively rolled away from his position, making a mortal blow from the teleporting assailant only a serious wound. Unfortunately Eamon was in a poor position as the human female whirled on him and struck out with an unearthly might. Eamon could only stare in shock as he was drenched in both his own blood and the female's, who staggered a little before giving him a confident stare.

* * *

Kieran only had a second to enjoy his brief victory over the human female when he felt a force pulling on his body through his mind. He grunted as he was pulled towards the blonde elf, who was busy preparing her sword for an attack as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. Kieran managed to twist his body to the side to avoid most of the damage, but he felt the compulsion force him to the ground by the elf. He looked around quickly and felt a jolt of fear as he saw the human female tear into Eamon with a vengeance while the human male on the ground pointed at him and muttered what Kieran could only assume was some human spell. 'I need to help him,' Kieran realized franticly, 'but this elf will attack me if I try to run towards him. What do I do?'

* * *

'I might need some help here,' Eamon reluctantly admitted in his mind as he stared at the human female. There was something dangerous about her, a divine fury he had never encountered before. At the same time, though, he felt the wonderful thrill of adrenaline begin to course through his veins as his body reveled in finally facing a worthy foe again. He let out a lusty laugh before darting in, his sword aim right for the human's heart. His blow never reached, unfortunately, as an arc of lightning soared from the camp, hitting the blow and turning it to the side so that it did less damage. Eamon felt fury as the lightning surged across the warriors body, forming a shell of protection and even slowing down the blood flow from the wound he and Kieran had made. Before the warrior moved away Eamon made sure to swipe his hat across the blood flowing sluggishly from the lightning-stitched wound, feeling strength surge into his body once again. He looked at the human and spat out a globule of blood, signifying his readiness for the next round.

* * *

Aidan was shocked when the drow appeared right before him. 'Damn he's fast," Aidan thought as he felt the drow's rapier stab into his shoulder. 'Good thing I was able to pay attention or he could have gotten me in a vital region.' Aidan narrowed his eyes to focus on the nimble form of the drow, deciding it would be better to admire his foe after the slashed his dark throat and claimed his prize. Aidan shoved his blade forward, abandoning subtlety in order to smack the drow with the enchanted blade, knocking him flat on his ass and dazing the bastard. He even hit deep enough to open a small artery, providing enough blood to dip his hat in and restore some of his strength. "Dermot, I need some help here!" Aidan yelled out, more than willing to have his comrade help him in battle.

* * *

'Well, I guess I am free for the moment,' Dermot thought as he watched a small ball of fiery white light explode on top of the elf. Dermot hoped the Witherer would keep the elf from shooting an arrow in his back, trudging forward to swing his scythe into the prone drow. Unfortunately his right boot hit an errant tent stake, throwing off his aim and causing the scythe to sweep only inches away from the drow's exposed throat. Dermot cursed vehemently before kicking the drow right in his smug face over the tent stake that had undone Dermot's initial attack. He followed the drow's trajectory only to see the elf aiming her bow right at him, looking healthier than he expected after seeing the Witherer's attack land.

* * *

'I guess we really were lucky earlier,' Kieran thought grimly as his scythe glanced off of the elf's grieve, missing the vital tendon he had desperately need to cut. Kieran felt a growing sense of despair well up in his chest as he realized he wouldn't be able to break away from the elf to help Eamon. Even worse, he had a perfect view of the bow-user's shot at Dermot, which hit him squarely in the shoulder even though the initial shot's trajectory should have clearly missed. Even worse, some cursed elven magic must have rested within that arrow, forcing Dermot to turn and attack Aidan. Kieran's heart cried out at the harshness of the elf's attack, forcing two dear comrades to hurt each other and become unfocused as they tried to figure out what was happening. Kieran felt no relief that the drow and human male still seemed out of it, the human even managing to miss a crossbow attack at fairly close range after throwing some sort of potion on the drow which closed some of the wounds Aidan had inflicted. Against his better judgement Kieran turned his head slightly to see how Eamon was doing, which only served to deepen his despair.

* * *

Eamon fought with a fury he hadn't felt in years, a battle furor reserved for those occasions when his death seemed as inevitable as the coming of the seasons. His blows were precise and began to hem in the wily human, but before he could deliver a decent blow the female let out a roar and swung her blade straight up. Eamon managed to deflect enough of the blade that it missed his femoral artery, but he couldn't stop the momentum of that terrible swing and found himself launched high up into the air. Fortunately he was able to grab enough branches to slow his descent and fall safely on his knees, but he felt the wounds all over his body begin to build up and weigh down his soul with exhaustion. 'It's almost as if her blade strikes my soul every time it cuts into my body,' Eamon mused, taking a quick breather while the human twirled her robe and took a step back. Eamon decided to quickly see how Kieran was doing, just in time to see the distracted powrie take the blonde elf's sword in his back while lightning coursed over the blade. Eamon knew his time was up: there was no way he could escape with wounds as grave as the ones he had been dealt, even if the adventurers were all killed. "Survive, lad," Eamon thought at Kieran, before turning his attention away from the human in order to cast the last spell of his life on the blonde elf.

* * *

Aidan stared down at the tip of Dermot's scythe dripping with his own blood. He knew Dermot couldn't have done it on purpose, but the shock of watching his companion of years attack him still held his mind tight in its grip. Aidan shook his head and focused on the one goal he had brought into battle: claiming a drow's life and completing his trophy collection. He turned and charged at the dark elf, using the momentum to tear into the wound the human had started to heal earlier. Aidan looked up and saw both thorns and a fiery sun explode onto the blonde elf before his sight was consumed by utter blackness.

* * *

The Witherer noted the changing tides of battle, but decided he would still rain a little more fire and light on these adventurers before retreating to the wilderness that would protect him. He smiled at the pain on the blonde elf's face when he hit her with a sun scorch; it was a simple spell, but sometimes those were the most effective. It even distracted her enough for the youngest powrie to land another blow on her with his scythe, an attack only made possible by the Witherer's earlier attack. Otherwise he would have ended up like the other dumb scythe-wielding powrie, who charged at the elf only to have her shoot him across the face with an arrow surrounded by buzzing insects. The fool even managed to miss the elf, no doubt driven to distraction by those puny insects! The Witherer let his lip curl with disgust, then began to move a little bit to the west to get a good position to attack the human female after she finished of the elder Thorn. 'She is, after all, the most wounded,' the Witherer assured himself, ignoring the nagging suspicion that he just wanted to defeat the opponent that had so obviously overwhelmed the oft-lauded Eamon.

* * *

Dermot cursed his luck as his swing soared past the elf, his aim thrown off by the mysterious swarm of insects that bit at his face when the elf's arrow nicked his face. He brushed his hand across his face, swatting at least a dozen of the little buggers at a time until he felt some small measure of relief. He gritted his teeth and looked past the remaining arrows in time to see the elf raise her bow to his left. 'What's she-' Dermot didn't manage to finish that thought as the elf unleashed two quick arrow strikes. The first soared past him and hit the tent stake behind him, deflecting up and colliding with the other arrow, jettisoning right into Kieran's right shoulder blade. Dermot couldn't manage to feel sympathy for the young powrie, however, because the second arrow was deflected just far enough down to collide right into his sternum, knocking out Dermot's breath and sending him staggering backward into the campfire. Dermot jumped out of the fire, making sure not to breathe in what little he could lest the hot air collapse his lungs. 'I hope Aidan's holding up better, because the rookie definitely needs my help the most,' Dermot thought, missing the cloud of darkness that had exploded around his companion.

* * *

Aidan suspected he wasn't dead, mostly because the impenetrable darkness around him was also accompanied by the stabbing pain he felt from his wounds. He didn't have long to ponder his situation before he heard a quick movement of air and an incredible pain lanced through his upper body. 'The drow!" Aidan realized, remembering stories of the dark elves being able to summon absolute darkness. Lashing out instinctively, Aidan felt his blade connect surprisingly well with the nimble drow. His jubilation was short-lived, however, as a small crossbow bolt suddenly and painfully appeared in his upper left bicep. He looked where the young human he had marked was and shook his head, impressed in spite of his dangerous circumstances. "Nice shot, you adorable bastard." As the sentence left his mouth Aidan felt his pride crumple. 'I always knew my last words would be pretty lame,' Aidan decided, 'but at least Dermot didn't get to hear that.'

* * *

Eamon stared at the red-haired girl who would take his life. He watched her move forward slowly, then let her blood flow down onto the blade before pulling it back for a strike that would surely overwhelm any defense Eamon would put up. Eamon looked right in the girl's eyes and smiled, a part of him glad that he met his death this way. He looked at Kieran in the final few moments before the human's enormous sword crushed his chest, feeling only regret that he failed the young powrie. As the sword bit into his chest he felt a wrenching pain deep in his soul as it was ripped from his mortal coil. "Ah, so this sword does attack the soul," Eamon muttered to himself.

"True, not that many are strong-willed enough to remember anything once they enter my blade." Eamon looked up to see a figure sitting on a crown in front of him, the same fullblade that had killed him lying across the figures legs. Eamon didn't notice anything especially prominent about the human, but then he suspected that the person wasn't nearly as important as the blade sitting across his legs.

"I'm guessing that figure carrying you doesn't bleed, huh?" Eamon queried, deciding that a little recklessness was fine after having his soul stolen by a seemingly sentient blade.

"I don't know. Care to try? I'll let you fight for your soul, although I doubt it will help." Although the voice coming from the figure sounded bored, Eamon got the distinct impression that it was interested in seeing how a battle would go. Eamon opened his mouth to turn the sword's figure down, about to mention his lack of a blade, when he realized he felt a comfortable weight hanging on his left side. Eamon looked down to see his trusty sword hanging by his side, almost as if his constant years of use had made the blade a part of his very soul.

"Why not? I never turned down a one-on-one fight in life, why should I start in death?" His purpose set, Eamon launched himself at the figure, deciding that an afterlife of battle might not be so bad after all.

* * *

Kieran watched the brutal human woman tear into the older powrie with abject horror, her sword glowing with a demonic light that could only bode ill for the veteran. Kieran held back a sob before turning on the blonde elf who had kept him from saving the noble powrie warrior, watching the magic thorns of his mentor fade with his death. He lashed out in instinctual rage, managing to dodge between two of her lightning-imbued strikes to cut deeply into her calf with his scythe, this time successfully hamstringing the elf and knocking her to the ground. Kieran looked up from the crippled elf only to see yet a second of his companions go down. "Not Dermot too," Kieran whispered.

* * *

Dermot tried not to look at the figure of Eamon, hunched over with the immense blade sticking through him in a blow no powrie could survive. 'If I just bet past the bow-user and help the rookier with his elf, we can turn this around,' Dermot thought, although deep down he knew the hope was futile. As if to mock his resolve, Dermot watches the elf with the bow slowly turn to aim her bow directly at him. "I tried, Aidan, but it's-" Dermot stopped halfway through his last speech, his voice forever cut off by the arrow quivering through his heart.

* * *

Aidan felt Dermot's death, but couldn't muster up a feeling of regret. 'There's no shame in our deaths, my dearest comrade,' Aidan thought at the endless void. 'Too bad the final piece of my collection was too hard to get, huh?' As Aidan finished that last bittersweet thought, he felt the drow's rapier pierce him right through the heart, a blow of such unerring precision that he felt honored to be so ably defeated by such a worthy fighter.

* * *

Kieran felt a blind rage, knowing that the rest of his companions were dead. Kieran would never know that this rage was his greatest attribute, a fighting quality that would have made him a legend among the powrie given the right guidance. Instead, it extended is life as the majority of the party rained blows and arrows down on him. He didn't even notice the small human on his flank, stabbing him with a small dagger, or the maelstrom of arrows the other elf launched at him. In his rage he focused on the blond elf and landed on more blow on her, a petty blow that ended when a final arrow pierced him in the back of the head.

* * *

The Witherer ignored the peons' deaths, glad that they pulled attention from his intended prize. While the young powrie distracted the others the Witherer looked right at the human female with the oversized blade. He smiled before unleashing a sun scorch on her, knocking her unconscious. The Witherer laughed to himself, feeling content with his eternal victory over the rotting corpse that was all that remained of Eamon. He even took a few seconds to admire the youngest powrie's final stand, which was surely more impressive than what the youth truly deserved. This inattention almost cost the Witherer his life, as he was only broken out of his reverie when he noticed the young human female dashing toward him at high speed.

'How's she up already?' the Witherer thought as he quickly cast his mind back, and then remembered when the human male had used some concoction on the drow and healed some of his wounds. The Witherer felt a burning rage at itself for becoming complacent and forgetting such an important detail. Fortunately for the Witherer, the human was clearly exhausted, her sword swing obvious enough that even the martially impaired Witherer could dodge aside. With a smirk and an offensive gesture it rarely deigned to use, the Witherer fell into his magic and let the woods absorb his presence so he could get away from the surprisingly vengeful female. He rolled his shoulders, trying to get rid of the feeling that the human was still after him. The sensation became even creepier when he heard a female voice yell out in fury, "You won't get away, I will hunt you to the ends of the world!"

"We'll see, adventurers."


End file.
